


Angelic Indulgence

by HipHopAnonymous



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Aziraphale has a spanking fetish, Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Fantasizing, Masturbation, Nanny Crowley (Good Omens), Other, Penis In Vagina Sex, Self-Spanking, Spanking, nanny ashtoreth - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-27 15:29:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20762633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HipHopAnonymous/pseuds/HipHopAnonymous
Summary: Aziraphale masturbates while fantasizing about Crowley thoroughly spanking and fucking him.





	Angelic Indulgence

**Author's Note:**

> This is shamelessly self-indulgent. I feel as silly and embarrassed as Aziraphale.
> 
> It's what I imagine Aziraphale would be like if he'd been left "blue-balled" at the Bastille (and at every meeting thereafter).

_And my lot do not send rude notes._

Aziraphale is stretched out on the bed, an open book abandoned facedown by his side. It just hadn’t been keeping his attention. Not when his mind had already started to wander towards a certain demonic entity rescuing him from the Bastille.

It is Aziraphale’s favorite daydream. His knight in shining armour. _Good Lord,_ Aziraphale had been _chained up_ and then there Crowley was; tall, dark, and handsome, and _scolding_ him about his clothes and the crepes.

_And my lot do not send rude notes._

Those words have haunted Aziraphale for centuries. From the moment they were spoken, they had lit a fire in his belly, made his face burn, and the back of his neck tingle. A seemingly simple comment, with unspoken, untold implications that never stopped fueling his fantasies.

_Oh God,_ what could Crowley have _meant_ by those words?

Aziraphale closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and slides a hand into his tartan pyjama bottoms. They match the button down top he also wears. Crowley would probably tease him about the pattern. Though if they ever ended up in a bedroom together, Aziraphale would much prefer to be naked anyway.

Aziraphale's hand finds his neat little cunt waiting between his legs. He gently presses the pad of his forefinger against the wrinkled hood of his clit, giving himself a little jolt of pleasure, and a warm, pleasant tingle spreads down his thighs.

Getting locked up in the Bastille had been risky, but oh so worth it to have Crowley running to save him. Aziraphale moves his finger in slow, idle circles. He’s just getting started. No need to rush it. Those _words,_ hissed quietly with raised eyebrows and thin lips. Crowley’s irritation at the naughty angel was evident in his voice.

_What does your lot do, Crowley? What would_ you _do?_

Aziraphale certainly knows what he _wants_ Crowley to do to him. He has done more than enough reading to figure that out. Of course, he very much likes the idea of being _fucked_. And oral sex. The Kama Sutra is very interesting, indeed. He is also intrigued by light bondage and is curious about candle wax and anal plugs. But he gets really, _really_ worked up at the idea of being _spanked._

That word alone is enough to set Aziraphale’s cheeks ablaze. Shockingly, it comes up in books and movies that aren’t even _about_ sex, and yet it always makes Aziraphale squirm and think of Crowley. It never fails to make him _wet_.

_You need a_ spanking, _Angel._

Aziraphale bites his bottom lip. It was all Crowley’s fault, really, for riling him up with implications of _punishment_ at the Bastille. The Nanny getup certainly hadn’t helped either.

_Nanny Ashtoreth. Good lord._ The memory of Crowley in disguise looking like a … a _professional_ is enough to send Aziraphale’s heart pounding. He isn’t as naive as he seems about these sorts of things. He knows from his readings (and some clandestine internet searches) that “Nanny Ashtoreth” looked precisely like someone who would be able to dish out some strict discipline.

_Is that the sort of thing your lot goes in for, Crowley? _

_I’ve been so terribly naughty, Miss Ashtoreth. I need to be punished._

Aziraphale’s lips part with a gasp as he presses harder with his index finger against his swollen little nub. He brushes his middle finger along his damp slit, slowly pulling himself open and dipping the tip inside, wetting his finger with his own slick.

_You’d best get over my knee, Angel. You need to be taught a lesson._

Before he can overthink it, Aziraphale rucks his pyjama bottoms down to ankles and flips over onto his stomach. If he’s going to go down this road, then he may as well fully indulge. He shoves a pillow beneath his hips, wriggling into a position that pushes and tilts his bottom up. It's close enough to mimic being across someone's knees. Of course, Crowley’s lap would be thinner, and bony, but Aziraphale makes due.

He lies there for a few moments, shifting his hips now and then, letting his mind wander and feeling the cool air on his naked, exposed bottom while fire lances from his belly to his sex.

Would Crowley bare him like this? What would it feel like to have the demon’s hand on his naked chubby buttocks? For Crowley to _strike_ him there? Despite the warmth in Aziraphale’s face, he shivers.

Finally, after dithering about it for a few moments, he blushes and, with a touch of shame, miracles up a _paddle_. It’s small, round, and wooden, with a handle just long enough to allow him to maneuver it behind his own hips.

He weighs it in his hand and licks his lips. _Oh, this is so silly._ Letting his arousal overcome his embarrassment, though, he reaches his arm behind him and gives the wood an experimental smack against his right buttock. He does it again, harder. Then another. And another. He switches hands and gives his left buttock similar treatment. He pauses. It had barely hurt, but a light stinging sensation tingles across the skin. A shocking burst of lust erupts between his thighs, and he thrusts against the pillow, sex utterly throbbing.

He spanks himself again. Harder and faster, fighting against the instinct not to self-inflict pain. He paddles his bottom quickly, trying to build up that delicious, addictive burning heat. While giving himself as thorough a spanking as he can manage, he lets his fantasies run wild.

One moment Crowley is spanking him in the Bastille. _You naughty, foolish little thing. I’m going to spank you ‘til you cry._

_Oh, OH!_ Aziraphale grinds himself against the pillow, his puffy cunt on fire.

Then it is Nanny Ashtoreth wielding the paddle. _What a ssssinful little boy you’ve been. You need to be punished. I’m going to paddle your bare bottom nicssse and red._

_Oh, fuck!_

Having sufficiently ignited a pleasant fire across the skin of his buttocks, Aziraphale tosses the paddle aside and thrusts his hand between his legs to touch himself. Oh, for Heaven’s sake he’s absolutely _dripping_ wet, sex coated in his own slick.

He scrambles up onto his knees, kicking his pyjamas off so he can spread his legs wide. He lays his face on the pillow. Head down, arse up, his fingers slide against his slippery, swollen clit, and he rubs it furiously, the wet sounds of his self-abuse loud in the room.

_Just look how red your naughty bottom is, Angel. You’re going to behave yourself now, aren’t you? You just needed me to give you a good spanking first._

Sometimes Crowley just got so _cross_ with him. It was almost frightening in a thrilling sort of way. Crowley had even _laid hands_ on him at the former convent while searching for the Antichrist. Aziraphale moans at the memory, and slips a wriggling finger inside his pussy, suddenly needing to fill the emptiness.

After six thousand years, they’d barely touched, but then Aziraphale found himself pushed up against the wall, Crowley’s lithe body pressed against him, their lips inches apart. Aziraphale’s mind had shorted out in that moment, frozen in shock. It turned out that Crowley was far stronger than his whip-thin body implied. Aziraphale had felt thoroughly _manhandled_ and completely at the demon’s wicked mercy.

_Teach you to call me nice. I’ll show you nice. I’ll tan your hide so hard you won’t be able to sit for a week!_

_Oh, yes, yes! Please!_

If Crowley would just take him in hand, Aziraphale would do anything to please him. _Anything_.

In Aziraphale’s fantasies, Crowley spanks him _hard._ Cows him into obedience, and then has his way with the angel. Aziraphale never even bothers to put up a token protest at Crowley (in any fantasy iteration) bending him over and giving his sopping cunt a thorough pounding, hips slamming against what would surely be a very well-spanked bottom.

He can imagine Crowley in the Bastille, unfastening his trousers and pulling out an enormous cock. Or maybe Nanny Ashtoreth would hike her skirt to reveal a red, dripping erection, as well. Or else if that former nun hadn’t shown up when she did, Crowley could have just miracled away their trousers and fucked him up against the wall.

Aziraphale’s thoughts fluctuate rapidly between these images, unable to settle on which he prefers. He’s greedy, insatiable - he wants everything.

And of course Crowley would have a penis. A _trouser snake _for the Serpent of Eden. Maybe even _two._ Aziraphale had read some herpetology books, after all. _That_ would certainly make for some heady possibilities.

_I really ought to take you in hand more often, hadn’t I, you naughty little thing? Look at you now, all eager to please me. A sore bottom has made you into such a good boy._

Aziraphale's fingers are slipping wildly now across his swollen clit. He’s become shameless, panting, legs spread wide and trembling. His mind is oscillating wildly between visions of Crowley spanking him and fucking him. Would it hurt? Would he cry? The thought makes him dizzy. He sucks in a breath and holds it, head buzzing at the lack of air as the rising pleasure mounts and then crests, and he comes with desperate gasps, shuddering with the rhythmic drumbeat of orgasm.

He collapses forward on the bed, then flips over onto his back, delighting in the way the bedsheets reignite the tenderness of his buttocks. He decides to give himself a few more goes.

He fucks himself on his fingers. He pushes up his shirt and teases his nipples. He tests the pad of one finger against his anus, then presses in just a bit and groans. He rubs, and rubs, and _rubs_, coming over and over until his clit is too sensitive and his thighs begin to ache from being spread open for so long.

At last, he lies still, limp, floating on the post-orgasmic buzz. The warm, pleasant tingles spread through his boneless body like melted butter. His eyes are closed, face relaxed and blissful.

He takes a deep breath and brings his slick fingers to his face. He sniffs them, fascinated by the scent of his own arousal. Curious, he licks them. The taste isn’t offensive, and he briefly imagines Crowley _licking_ him with that serpent tongue. His overstimulated sex twitches reluctantly at the thought of Crowley’s mouth on it. _Oh, you foul fiend!_

He files it away. A fantasy for next time. For now, he disposes of the paddle with a miracle, blushing at the memory of spanking himself into a horny stupor. He rights his pyjamas and then curls up on his side to sleep.

Such is Aziraphale's typical routine before a meeting with Crowley. They have brunch plans in the morning to discuss important matters at hand, and he can’t allow himself to be distracted by his unrequited lust. Crowley would never go in for that sort of thing with Aziraphale, end times or not. And Aziraphale would be mortified for Crowley to learn the bounds of his depravity.

So Aziraphale has resigned himself to fantasies. A little angelic indulgence never hurt. Best to have a thorough wank and a good sleep and then keep it all under wraps. It was the end of the world, and surely there was no time for such foolishness.

_Unless … ?_

**Author's Note:**

> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/HipHopAnonymou9)
> 
> [Tumblr](https://hiphopanonymousao3.tumblr.com/)


End file.
